


two by two

by sevdrag (seventhe)



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Crowley was the first horse girl send tweet, Crowley's Name is Crawly | Crawley (Good Omens), Fluff, M/M, Non-Explicit Sex, The Ark, Unicorns, inspired by Whiteley Foster's lovely art, soft, the two horses x the unicorn is our OT3
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-11
Updated: 2020-07-11
Packaged: 2021-03-04 20:28:26
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,889
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25202467
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/seventhe/pseuds/sevdrag
Summary: “I don’t like that she’s alone,” Crawly says, stroking his hand down the mare’s nose. “How long does it take for her to foal?”a bit about the unicorn, Crawly's sexual education, and Aziraphale realizing no one's meant to be alone. Inspired by Whiteley Foster's gorgeous art.
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Comments: 39
Kudos: 259
Collections: Shinbi34's Recommendations





	two by two

**Author's Note:**

> yes HELLO i have been made SOFT by some FEELINGS so here you are:
> 
> this was, in fact, inspired by some absolutely lovely art Whiteley Foster posted on her Patreon, featuring Crowley and the unicorn, and then a scene that came after. It struck me, because Crowley just looked so lovely and innocent, and this is what happened. Also drawing on Neil Gaiman's tumblr comment about Crowley, reproduction, and the unicorn comment.
> 
> There is non-explicit sex in here, FYI.

“I don’t like that she’s alone,” Crawly says, stroking his hand down the mare’s nose. “How long does it take for her to foal?”

Aziraphale frowns. “She won’t,” he tells the demon. They’ve made a temporary armistice, here, surrounded by the endless waters and both of their grief. Aziraphale had thought himself in line with the Almighty’s plan for the area, but as the water had risen, he’d discovered there was a human-enough part in his soul to mourn the rest of the local human race.

So he and Crawly are tucked up in the bottom of the Ark. Currently they’re sharing the stall with the last unicorn, because Crawly seems oddly drawn to it. They avoid the - er, the front of the boat; Aziraphale isn’t exactly up on his boat terminology, he hadn’t expected to need it - where a handful of dirty, unexpected children sleep away the forty days, hidden under a layer of miracles. Crawly’s doing, really, but Aziraphale wasn’t about to argue once the deed was done.

Crawly pouts. Aziraphale’s drawn to the way it’s still — innocent? Perhaps? The demon’s upset at the flood had seemed genuine; Aziraphale finds himself curious, wondering about Crawly. Wondering whether this is an opportunity for him to bring a lost soul back to the light.

“That’s a shame.” Crawly moves on to the unicorn’s mane, and starts braiding it. Aziraphale was surprised to find Crawly well-versed in the different styles of braid the community used to denote social and familial status; Crawly’s hair told Aziraphale that he was a friend to the community, a special friend to the children, and single. Aziraphale wonders whether Crawly understands that much, or if he just likes the patterns.

Aziraphale realizes he’s watching Crawly’s lovely long fingers work a patterned braid through the unicorn’s silky grey mane, and shakes himself back to consciousness. “I’m sorry,” he says, aware that the demon has asked a question. “What was that?”

“I asked why not,” Crawly says. He’s smiling, all relaxed, almost tender. Aziraphale wonders again at the way Crawly’s trusting him. Aziraphale could smite him right here! - not that he would, really, with Crawly’s lovely golden eyes on him, genuinely curious - and Crawly doesn’t seem worried in the slightest.

“Because there’s … there’s only one, Crawly,” Aziraphale tells him tentatively. The other unicorn had sprinted, away from the wooden boat and its promised confinement, and while Aziraphale’s heart had clutched in sorrow, he hadn’t dared to meddle with what was clearly the hand of the Almighty. There will be no unicorns other than this one. He wonders whether they will be a story humans tell each other, or if he and Crawly are the only beings on earth who will remember them in the years to come.

“So?” Crawly asks, now nuzzling at the unicorn’s nose. It’s actually quite - cute - and Aziraphale has to duck his face away to hide a smile. “Look at her, she’s quite healthy, in great shape. And she has an angel and a demon to help her out. You won’t be alone for long,” Crawly croons into the long stretch of her nose, and Aziraphale watches the mare snuggle her face into the crook of Crawly’s neck.

Something strikes Aziraphale, then, like — like a lightning bolt finally dropping from the storming clouds above them, like the light of God Herself beaming down upon him at the gate of Eden. It doesn’t quite strike true, but there’s something about the way Crawly says _you won’t be alone_ and _angel and a demon_ within the same breath that strikes Aziraphale low in his breast, the way the holiest of things sometimes do.

It rings like a bell inside him and he opens his mouth to ask Crawly - something, anything - but then the rest of the conversation catches up to him and Aziraphale says, struck a bit dumb, “What do you mean, so?”

Crawly laughs. “I have faith in her, angel.”

Aziraphale shakes his head. “Crawly,” he says again - the demon’s name, twice in one conversation - “my dear, it’s just her.”

“Yeah, and she’s fine?” Crawly’s now stroking at the silk skin of the unicorn’s neck. Her eyes are half-lidded, like she’s enjoying the attention. “Really, angel, why do you think she won’t?”

“Um,” Aziraphale says, and that fleetingly brilliant-bright certainty he’d been feeling slowly settles as confusion surfaces. Does Hell have the same pamphlets as Heaven? Surely Crawly had been introduced to - reproduction on Earth - before coming up here to — to tempt? Crawly’s corporation seems so - so suited to the act - the way it makes Aziraphale think about - oh, no, that’s not right at all. “Crawly,” he says slowly, shaking his head. “She’s lost her mate.”

“Oh, I remember.” Crawly’s hands stroke up the unicorn’s neck, and back down. Aziraphale shivers a bit as he watches the motion. “That’s what I’m saying, she’s all alone.”

“I,” Aziraphale starts. “Oh.” This is more than a bit awkward, isn’t it? “Do they not give out… the pamphlets in Hell?”

“Oh, plenty of pamphlets,” Crawly says, turning to grin at Aziraphale. His eyes are teasing. “Don’t have time to read all of that, angel. I’m a demon. Slept through most of the presentations. Great sin, sloth.”

Well. This is certainly an inappropriate topic for an Angel of the Lord to - teach? Preach? _Demonstrate,_ says that very human-like part of Aziraphale’s brain - oh, dear.

“Crawly.” Something comes out in his voice, and the demon — glances over at him, curious, facial expression so open and honest. Who _is_ this Crawly, with such genuine feelings? “In order for the - for Earth’s, well, species - to reproduce, both the male and the female of the species need to contribute, um. They both play a role?”

“Male, female.” Crawly waves a hand, and his grin goes adorably crooked. “I’ve tried both. Oh, and both parts, you know.” This handwave encompasses an area Aziraphale _definitely is not thinking about._ “Since they don’t always go hand in hand.”

“In humans,” Aziraphale begins, and then he starts to giggle, because there’s just something _terribly_ funny about the whole thing. “Oh, Crawly, all that time you’ve spent watching them? Do you really not know how this works?”

“How what works,” Crawly drawls. His stance is starting to get a bit awkward; Aziraphale wonders whether the poor dear is _embarrassed._

He decides to take pity on the entire situation. “In most species, there are two distinct sexes, which I’m going to call female and male for now, because this conversation is already — well. They come together in pairs, one of each, to perform intercourse, which is how new offspring are made.”

Now Crawly’s looking at him with his face all screwed up — although this, too, is more cute than anything. “Really?” He continues to idly stroke the unicorn’s face. “Angel, we’ve seen all kinds of humans and creatures having sex in all kinds of configurations. And it doesn’t make kids. The male-ish parts can’t even _have_ kids.”

“Ah.” Aziraphale is still trying to swallow his laughter. There’s something so - pure - about the fact that this demon, his Adversary, the original tempter, the Snake of Eden, not knowing a single thing about sexual reproduction.

“Humans - and animals - can have all kinds of sex, yes, but in order to reproduce, it requires a special combination of the, er, male and female of the species to create a ...well. To create. To make a new life.”

Crawly’s still, now, one hand on the unicorn’s nose and one lifted up, one finger resting against his lips, those goldenrod eyes looking lost in thought. Crawly doesn’t blink, Aziraphale’s noticed; instead, his brows come down slightly, his face suddenly flooded with — concern?

“Oh,” says Crawly, very small. His hands still, and then fall away from the unicorn, as if he’s suddenly anathema, as if he’s unworthy. Crawly swallows, and then to Aziraphale’s surprise, one of those hands comes up to brush so gently against the mare’s cheek. 

“I would have brought him back,” Crawly says, and his voice is - are those tears? - there’s certainly something choked about it, Aziraphale notices. “I would have. I swear.”

And then Crawly presses the palms of both hands into his face, throws one _terribly stricken_ look at Aziraphale, and runs.

Aziraphale lets him go.

———

Crawly’s words about being alone stay with Aziraphale. He can’t sleep, or even rest, so instead he walks the ship - invisible, of course - bestowing blessings upon God’s chosen family and all the creatures of the earth. Two by two. _You won’t be alone for long._

To his surprise, he finds Crawly in the pen with the horses. They’re both beautiful: one a bright sungold with a black mane, the other pale with blotches on its legs; Crawly’s feeding them carrots, and the look on his face is pensive. Aziraphale stills, not wanting to be seen.

“Look,” Crawly murmurs eventually, snapping a miracle apple into his palm - always with the apples - and feeding the pieces one by one to the curious horses. “You’re similar, right? Close enough? With a bit of a miracle helping it on, we could…” That voice, so rich with feeling, trails off a bit. There’s only the sound of two horses chewing.

“It’s worth a try, right?” Crawly reaches out to stroke their noses. “Yes, I know, you’re animals. I know you aren’t exactly — well. I know if I do a bit of a miracle here and a bit there we could have a chance, you know? It’s just…”

One of the horses - the sungold one, brilliant in the damp dark of the Ark - nudges at his hand, and Crawly laughs softly, miracling up more long carrots for it to munch on: orange, purple, white. “If this is the way the world’s going to be, I mean, nobody should be alone, right?”

Aziraphale watches what feels like a mournful, poignant silence, and then Crawly murmurs: “If an angel and a demon can - can be - well - if a unicorn and a horse could, you know, if they’re close enough, then maybe we could be…”

Crawly trails off. Aziraphale gently slips away, using a miracle to stay unseen.

———

Aziraphale isn’t sure what comes over him. Maybe it’s the gentle way Crawly speaks to the animals: the way he’d stroked the unicorn mare, the way he’d fed the sungold stallion. Maybe it’s that thing that had sparked in his chest earlier, that strange echo of divinity, the way Crawly’s words had rung something in him like a bell. Maybe it’s that innocence that still stretches across Crawly’s brow, smooth with curiosity, a serpent only asking questions.

Maybe, maybe, it’s just that Aziraphale doesn’t want to be alone. Not for long. Not for now. Maybe they’re meant to go in pairs, two by two.

So he’s drawn Crawly aside, here, in this unoccupied stall, where his miracles - he can explain them away, saying they’re for Noah’s family - have laid out layers of blankets, soft pillows, fresh straw. Aziraphale draws Crawly to him. Kisses the demon’s face, the peaks of those cheekbones, the slope of his nose. Kisses the demon’s lips, softly and gently at first, then deepening as Crawly learns and responds; Aziraphale nearly loses himself in Crawly’s intensity, the way the demon has no finesse but infinite passion, the small noises Crawly makes. 

Aziraphale draws Crawly’s robes aside, letting his hands press against that skin: those sharp bones, those angles. His fingers find freckles; his thumbs, ribs. Once Crawly gets the courage to respond, his curiosity is insatiable, and Aziraphale finds his own chorus of noises as Crawly’s eager, nimble fingertips trace beneath his clothing and along skin that’s suddenly alight with fire and desire.

It’s only a few murmured words, confirming the wants and the consent, and a couple of miracles that might stretch the definition of miracle, and then Crawly’s sinking down onto Aziraphale, gasping, and Aziraphale’s equally stunned as he ends up deep inside Crawly, hearing nothing but that feeling again, ringing in his ears and his chest like the peal of a bell. 

“Is this right?” Crawly gasps into his throat, and Aziraphale’s hands clutch at Crawly’s hips. The demon feels so — small, slender; Crawly’s entire attitude is so large, and yet he’s really a slip of a thing held in Aziraphale’s palms.

Crawly moves - grinds - does some jerky circular thing with those hips, and Aziraphale’s breath catches in his throat. “Yes, my dear, I believe so,” he murmurs, drawing Crawly back down so that he can kiss the freckles across his cheekbones. 

Crawly makes this incredibly gratifying noise and starts moving more rhythmically, as if he’s found something good. “You believe so?” His smile is a bit teasing but mostly incredulous, as if he’s never ever imagined anything this good. Aziraphale certainly hasn’t. There are earthly pleasures, and then there’s this, the tight sweetness of Crawly and his skin on fire. “I thought you knew all about this kind of thing, angel.”

“Oh,” Aziraphale says, because that’s all he can really say as Crawly’s lovely lips and nimble tongue press curiously into the place where his shoulder meets his neck. “Well, at least I read the manuals.”

Crawly’s laugh echoes down into a movement in his hips, making Aziraphale arch up and Crawly shudder delightfully, and they’re both deliciously distracted from that point on.

———

Later - much, much later, post-Apocalypse later, post-relationship later, years after, once they’re safely ensconced in the comfort of their cottage - they’re talking about something else, and Aziraphale’s reminded of that tender moment on the Ark — their first moment, the first of many.

“All those years ago,” he says to Crowley, “on the Ark — do you recall?”

“Like I’d forget that, angel.” Crowley’s smile is crooked, and so fond. 

“It was the way you spoke to the horses,” Aziraphale tells him. “And the unicorn. You were so — sad. Genuinely. It was the first - oh, I don’t know - it was an incredible thing to see from a demon meant to be my adversary.”

But Crowley’s gaze has gone absent, abandoned, until he gasps and looks back at Aziraphale: his entire face is alight, grinning from ear to ear, those sungold eyes wide with excitement. “Fuck!” Crowley says. “Angel, I never — I never told you, did I? — Quick, get your shoes on, I have something to show you.”

There’s a bit of a dash around the house, then, and Aziraphale isn’t sure he’s seen Crowley this eager in - forever - but then they’re standing in the hallway dressed to go out. Crowley takes his hands, presses kisses to both of them. 

“Ready, angel?”

Aziraphale nods, and the familiar feel of Crowley’s miracles tugs them out of their cottage and into — well.

Aziraphale feels around. They’re somewhere - an island; he can feel the weight of the sea around them - somewhere north of Scotland and Ireland, some tiny little thing that’s part of the long archipelago of bits tossed out of the British Isles. “Crowley,” he says, intrigued, “what is this?”

“Hush,” Crowley says, grabbing his arm. “Watch.”

There’s a noise like the rushing of the ocean, and Aziraphale glances back, but Crowley sets his hands on Aziraphale’s shoulders and turns him to look out over the island. He leaves his hands there, gently rubbing down Aziraphale’s arms and back up. Aziraphale leans back into him, and waits.

The first thing to emerge from the wooded area is a foal, all skitter-legged and clumsy. Aziraphale exhales in delight and it spots them, ears forward, curious. Another horse emerges behind it, and then another, and then—

—the next foal has a pearly, spindly horn spiraling upwards from its brow, and Aziraphale gasps.

“Turns out,” Crowley murmurs into his ear, “those horses on the Ark were willing to help out after all.”

Aziraphale remains still, beaming, trying to expel nothing but angelic peace, as the wild herd moves out. A couple of the horses - and unicorns - take a few steps towards them, but angel and demon remain still, content to watch. Crowley tucks his chin over Aziraphale’s shoulder, so they’re resting cheek to cheek. There must be fifty of them, horses and unicorns together, all white and chestnut and dappled in the sun.

“Oh, Crowley,” Aziraphale says, finally. He turns to look at his demon, who after six thousand years still has the capacity to surprise him. 

“I told you, angel,” Crowley says, and Aziraphale can tell that behind the sunglasses, his eyes are full of love. “I didn’t like that she was alone.”

> NARRATOR’S NOTE: 
> 
> [1] This confirms that the demon Crowley was the first ‘horse girl’ [2]. He isn’t credited with inventing the genre, because it isn’t very evil, but the number of books and movies that expand on the theme[3] are in fact the result of Crowley’s demonic influence.
> 
> [2] Unfortunately, having done this service to horse-kind has not endeared Crowley to them. Horses remain hard on his lithe demonic buttocks.
> 
> [3] As it turns out, the horses and the unicorn on the Ark had got along splendidly. The second the Ark had beached, Crawly had miracled them away - first to somewhere in the middle of Africa, where the people of the time lived a lot closer to nature - and left Noah somewhat surprised when his horses were suddenly black and dun. It wasn’t until later that Crowley had noticed the island of Chincoteague and suddenly gotten some inspiration.

**Author's Note:**

> come yell with me on [tumblr](https://www.tumblr.com/blog/sevdrag), or on Discord!


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